The Frontier was waking.
Kael had seen it in Havenreach's defiance, in Serenya's scheming pledge, in Draxos raising its tattered banner to the sky. Piece by piece, the Ghost Admiral's grip loosened.
But for every victory, Kael expected the blowback. He knew his brother too well. Taren never left defiance unanswered.
The strike came sooner than he imagined.
The Broadcast
The Ark had just cleared Draxos' orbit when the comms console lit up, carrying an unencrypted transmission. Joran frowned.
"Public band, system-wide. Someone wants us to hear this."
Kael's stomach tightened. "Put it through."
The holoprojector flickered to life in the center of the bridge. And there he was.
Admiral Taren Ardyn.
He wore the black uniform of the Ghost Fleet, trimmed in silver. His eyes were cold fire, his posture rigid, every inch the warlord Kael remembered—and feared.
"People of the Frontier," Taren's voice rolled like thunder, amplified, commanding. "You have heard whispers of rebellion. You have heard the lies of my brother. Yes—brother. Blood of my blood. But do not mistake his weakness for my strength."
Lyra stiffened at Kael's side. Rhea spat a curse under her breath.
Taren's gaze seemed to pierce straight through the holofeed. "Kael Ardyn abandoned you once, and now he dares to offer false hope. But I—" his hand clenched into a fist "—I offer certainty. Prosperity for those who kneel. Annihilation for those who resist."
The holo shifted. Images filled the air: Ghost Fleet squadrons annihilating colonies, cities burning, children weeping as soldiers dragged them away. Footage—carefully selected, precisely cut—to paint Kael as the cause.
Then came the worst.
An image of their father.
General Darius Ardyn. Once a hero of the Core, long dead. Or so Kael had believed.
The recording showed him in chains, gaunt, his voice ragged. "Kael… stop this madness. Your brother is the future. You are only destruction."
The holo cut back to Taren, his expression a mask of cold triumph.
"This is what rebellion brings: betrayal, ruin, the suffering of innocents. My brother wages war not for you, but against you. Remember that… when the Ghost Fleet arrives."
The transmission ended. Silence hung heavy on the bridge.
Kael's hands trembled at his sides. He could barely breathe.
"My father," he whispered. "He's alive."
The news spread like wildfire. Within hours, reports came from across the Frontier: murmurs of doubt, protests, even riots. Some claimed Kael was lying about his father's captivity. Others said Taren's words proved Kael was nothing but a usurper.
On Cindralis, Serenya sent a message wrapped in silk and venom: 'Your brother plays the long game. Do not expect me to bleed for you until you prove this cause is not already lost.'
On Havenreach, old veterans wavered. On Draxos, Garrick's militia demanded answers.
And in the Ark's war-room, Kael faced his crew's eyes.
Rhea leaned back, arms folded. "Well. That was a neat little trick. Your brother just turned half your shiny new followers against you."
Joran's voice was quiet. "If your father really is alive… what does that mean for us?"
Lyra's gaze never left Kael's face. "It means we can't let Taren control the story. We find the truth, whatever it is. And we show the Frontier who Kael really is."
Kael swallowed hard. "If my father lives, he's a prisoner. A pawn. Taren will use him to break me. We can't let that happen."
Rhea snorted. "So what's the plan? Rescue Daddy Dearest and wave him around like a victory flag?"
Kael's voice was low, edged with steel. "Yes. That's exactly the plan."
Finding his father meant chasing whispers. The Ghost Fleet was vast, its prisons scattered across hidden bases. But Taren had made a mistake—he had shown too much.
Rhea pored over the broadcast frame by frame, tracing power signatures, background noise, even the dust motes drifting in the holo. "That recording wasn't staged on a ship," she muttered. "Stone walls, atmospheric pressure, humidity… smells like a fortress world."
Joran tapped coordinates on the star map. "I've got three possible matches in the outer sectors. Ghost Fleet garrisons built into old mining complexes. All within striking range of Draxos."
Kael studied the map, his jaw tightening. "Then we hit them. One by one, until we find him."
Lyra touched his arm, her voice calm but firm. "Kael… what if we do find him? What if he really believes what he said—that you're only destruction?"
Kael closed his eyes. Memories surged—his father's stern lessons, his rare smiles, the crushing weight of his approval. "Then I'll bring him home anyway. He'll see who I am now. Not Taren's shadow. Not the boy who failed him. Me."
The Ark dove into the first target system under cloak, a barren moon riddled with tunnels. Ghost Fleet patrols swept the surface, but the crew slipped past, landing deep in the mines.
The air was thick with dust, the walls vibrating with distant machinery. Kael led the way, blade in hand, heart hammering in his chest.
They found cells—but no father. Only broken miners, their bodies frail, their eyes hollow. Prisoners, yes, but not the one Kael sought.
One woman, barely alive, clutched Kael's arm. "They… they moved him. The one they called… Ardyn. Taken to the Crucible."
Kael's blood ran cold.
Rhea cursed. "The Crucible? That's not a prison. That's a slaughterhouse."
The Crucible was a fortress carved into the heart of an asteroid belt, an old war-foundry turned prison. Legends whispered of its horrors—endless drills, experiments, and executions, all under Taren's command.
Joran's scans confirmed it. The Crucible bristled with defenses: flak cannons, shield arrays, fighter squadrons.
Rhea whistled low. "That place makes Cindralis look like a tea party. We charge in, we're space dust."
Kael's eyes burned. "We'll find a way."
Lyra stepped closer, her hand slipping into his. "Then we do it together."
As the Ark drifted in the void, watching the Crucible from afar, Kael felt the weight of the galaxy pressing down.
His father was alive. His brother had declared war not with fleets, but with shadows and lies. The Frontier was wavering.
And Kael knew—whatever waited inside that fortress would not only decide the fate of his family, but the fate of his rebellion.